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Way of the Wolf 3
Way of the Wolf 3 is an encounter in The Savage North. It comes after Way of the Wolf 2 or Red in Axe and Claw 1. Enemies Transcript Introduction “There’s something… wrong… with this one,” Brachus murmurs. You nod, keeping your eyes focused on the Nord’s all the while. There are others arrayed beside him, more warriors who brandish their weapons and prepare to cut you down as interlopers who’ve transgressed against royal decree. And yet you can’t look away from this single enemy. He’s tall, nearly Rakshara’s height. His body is laden with muscle, big slabs of mighty flesh that threaten brutality with each little twitch. Those upon his chest are uncovered. He wears no armor there, or protection from the elements – only blue paint worked into swirling geometric designs. A wolf’s head nods above his own, its pelt flapping against his broad back as the chill wind plays with it. A berserker. The fearsome warriors of the northern lands, strong and savage. But even that isn’t enough to explain the strangeness about him. Then he closes his eyes for a full second, and when he opens them you understand. The whites of his eyes are… not. They’re yellow now. His irises are gone too, as though swallowed up by the gaping blackness of his pupils. The Nord growls. He roars. He charges, with the swift, springing step of a predator, his axes flashing in his hands. His comrades aren’t far behind. And yet even now your stare is locked with his. Conclusion The berserker howls. Your sword is buried six inches in his ribcage, having missed his heart but pierced his lung. And still he attacks. His axes rain down on your shield like a furious hailstorm, battering away at the metal – each ringing blow a promise of the savage butchery that will ensue if his frenzied swings find their way past your defenses. By all rights he should be on the ground dying. Instead he assaults you with the vigor of two men, either refusing to accept the inevitability of his demise or else not caring. You twist and yank at your blade, putting the sharp steel further through his organs, cutting deeper into his vital meat. The axe blows keep coming, smashing against your shield again and again. But they’re slowing now. Each one strikes with less might. The berserker’s body is informing him of its death, reminding him that his indomitable spirit is no match for the weakness of his flesh. When the beat of his axes falls silent, you move your shield aside and hazard a look at his face. His features twitch, the flesh pulls back from his jowls in a lupine snarl. Then his yellow-black eyes dim. “He was one of them, wasn’t he?” Hugh asks, as you gather round the corpse. “His blood was tainted at least,” you reply. “He had the wolf inside him.” “It’s what I told you about,” Tessa says. “Some of them use the were-blood in other ways. To lend them strength and fury in battle, perhaps – even when they keep their own skins.” “I remember learning about berserkers as a boy. In the Nords’ language the word means ‘bear shirt’. My tutor said it was because they used to dress in bear hides, like Terracles did. But…” Hugh snorts. “Werebears? If there’s such a thing as werebears, I’m sodding off back home! Wolves are bad enough.” Category:The Savage North